


Patterned

by rosebud_boy



Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [8]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: 3 times 1 time, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Mirrors, Neck Kissing, Sharing Clothes, Suits, Swearing, bruh idek, but not really, i can't stop writing sweet things it's not in my boys' brand tho, this is the third time ive edited these tags i need sleep, very minor wayward son spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:40:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21668344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosebud_boy/pseuds/rosebud_boy
Summary: Simon has always admired the way Baz dresses, even if not consciously. He's always wondered what it would be like to have that sense of style, to care that much about his appearance.Or,The 3 times Simon Snow wanted to wear Baz Pitch's clothes, and the 1 time he actually did something about it.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554379
Comments: 4
Kudos: 128





	Patterned

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you're wondering about the timelines of this fic, the first two take place in their fifth year, the third is sixth year, and the fourth is kind of before Wayward Son, but like, not? If that makes sense? It's canon non-compliant, I guess is the way to say it. 
> 
> Sorry for any confusion, enjoy! :)

**One.**

  
  


It’s freezing in our dorm.

It’s normal for there to be a slight chill, the windows in here are thin and shitty, and stone brick doesn’t insulate very well. But when I walk into the room after class, I swear it’s like I’m transported into a bloody tundra. 

It’s mid-October-- there’s no real reason for it to be so frigid in here. For half a moment, I blame Baz. It’s just like him to do something small enough that bugs me but he can’t get caught out for. But he’s the one who gripes at me for leaving the window open a smidge; he gets too cold too quick. He wouldn’t do something like this.

Baz still isn’t back from football practice, and he isn’t due back for at least an hour. I decide to take the time that I can to work on as much schoolwork that I can with no distractions.

I go to sit at my desk chair, but I can feel the freezing wood through the legs of my trousers. I can’t work like this. I grab the blanket off my bed and wrap it around myself. I can’t do work on my bed, because I’ll just end up falling asleep, but this will do for now. 

I start on my Mythology essay, trying to get my brain to focus on the papers in front of me. But I can’t pay attention; I’m literally only focused on the cold. 

My dresser on the other side of the room will be empty, I know it already. But that doesn’t stop me from pulling open every drawer and searching through the little clothes I own for something warmer. I haven’t gone clothes shopping with Penelope yet this year. All I have is some tees and my Watford uniforms. I’m already wearing my blazer, which is probably the warmest thing I own. I know that my clothes won’t offer any heat of value. 

I can’t help it as my gaze sweeps to Baz’s side of the room. 

There’s a jumper folded on top of his dresser. 

Instinct almost takes hold of me, for a split second I almost march across the room without thought. 

But I stop myself. 

What on earth would happen if I wore  _ Baz’s _ jumper? The possibilities are endless. 

The most obvious outcome comes to me first. I would get caught out by him, somehow, and he’d be pissed beyond belief that I touched his things. I can only imagine how much he would yell at me.

He would probably be weirded out, too.  _ Odd _ doesn’t even begin to encompass what it would be like if your sworn-enemy-roommate wore your jumper without asking. Or, at all. Sharing clothes is not something you do with someone you hate. 

There’s more negative outcomes than there would be positive, that’s for sure. I could get caught, I could ruin it, it might just not do anything to warm me up. But my mind still wanders to the positives.

I can’t help but imagine how it’d probably be cozy. And soft. It looks so soft, I bet it was expensive as hell. I wonder if it would smell like Baz and his posh shampoos… 

I startle as the door slams open. It’s Baz, glaring as he walks in. 

“Crowley, did you leave the window open again? Shit, it’s freezing in here.” He curses, stomping into the room dramatically. 

My face is flushing, and I don’t know why. I feel caught in the act, but I wasn’t doing anything. “Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” I sputter out. 

Baz turns to me with an incredulous look. He lifts his eyebrow. 

“How are we supposed to play football in this weather, Snow?”

I look to the window to discover that it’s raining. I hadn’t noticed it start, but it’s pouring fairly heavily. 

I turn my view back towards Baz, to find that he’s pulling the jumper over his head. 

My face burns as I go back to my essay. 

  
  
  
  


**Two.**

  
  


Penny’s house is busy during the holidays, about ten times more than usual. 

It’s already a cluttered house, but it’s made more chaotic by all the people running around, half of them children and the other half unfamiliar to me. 

Every Bunce brings over at least one friend over winter break, it’s an unspoken tradition that they carry out each year. I’m Penny’s guest, and her house stresses me out a bit, but I really don’t mind. I have nowhere else to go while schools out anyways. 

She’s left me in her room to unpack my small bag of clothes and toiletries I’ve brought from Watford. I’m not sure where she went, or when she’ll be back. 

Penny’s room is messy. There’s no nice way to put it. All her shelves are overflowing with books and trinkets, momentos and writing utensils. There’s piles of clothes on the floor, even though her laundry hamper is empty. Nothing is organized. Even her dresser is in disarray, but she did go through the effort of cleaning out a space for my clothes. 

I’m pulling my socks out of when I notice an unfamiliar clothing item in the bottom of my bag. I fish it out, holding it up in front of me. 

It’s a dress shirt. It’s light grey, made from a nice material. The inside of the collar and the sleeve cuffs are decorated with small blue and green patterns and intricate designs; it’s probably the nicest shirt I’ve ever held in my hands. The material is wrinkled from my bag, but it’s nice and probably expensive. 

It’s definitely not my shirt, and it hits me almost right away why it’s in my possession. It’s Baz’s shirt. I must have grabbed something of his in my hurry to leave for holiday on time.

I almost consider putting it on. It’s a nice shirt, nicer than anything I own. I could actually look presentable at the Bunce’s Christmas dinner for once.

I shove the thought away as I shove the shirt back into my bag. I’ll just give it back to Baz when school starts back up again. 

  
  
  
  


**Three.**

  
  


“What are you wearing to the Formal, Simon? I want to match our outfits up.” 

I look up at Agatha from my lunch. “What?”

She curls her lip and scrunches her nose at me. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s disgusting. I said, what are you wearing to the Formal? I want to buy a dress that matches whatever you’re going in, it would be cute if we had matching outfits. Olivia said she and Rhys are doing that, and I thought it was a nice idea.”

I chew on my lip as she speaks. If I’m honest, I hadn’t thought about what to wear when I’d asked her to go. I had just been thinking about hanging out with her and Penelope, and the snacks. The concept of attire had slipped my mind completely. 

Over the last year, Penny helped me buy a few dress shirts for me. I wear them for events like holidays, or special occasions. I hadn’t ever had any before, and I figured I would start to need them for times like that. And they were nice, but nothing near the level of nice I would need for the Formal. The dress code is in the name. 

“I, uh,” I say stupidly. “I hadn’t really thought of it.”

Agatha rolls her eyes. “Great snakes, Simon, the Formal is in a week. You need to figure out what you’re going in so that I can buy the right dress.”

I wonder why she needs to buy a new dress anyways, I’ve seen her closet, she already has a dozen. “Well, what am I supposed to wear?” I question. 

She shrugs. “Baz must have a million suits, just borrow one of his.”

I’m struck by how odd the thought is. Wear one of Baz’s suits? How would I even ask for something like that from him? He would probably just insult me for being too poor to buy my own clothes. 

But yet again, I know he has a navy blue suit folded in his dresser, I’ve seen it there when he grabs his uniforms out in the morning. It’s a crazy thought, but I think I would look good in it, Penny tells me that dark blue brings out my eyes. 

I shake my head. It is a crazy thought. “No, I can’t just ask Baz for his suits. That’d be too weird.”

Agatha sighs. It’s so delicate, she sounds like she’s made of glass. I know it’s the sound she makes when she’s really pushed to her limits.

“Well, then, I don’t know, Simon. I guess I could ask my father if he could lend you one of his old ones, but I’m not sure he has anything worth while.”

I smile at her. “I’m sure anything will work fine.”

  
  
  
  


**Four.**

  
  


I’m standing in front of a full length mirror, wearing one of Baz’s printed suits. 

It’s black with blue and grey shapes flitting around each other, resembling vague silhouettes of birds. It fits well, it’s one of his older ensembles. It makes me look taller, or maybe it’s just the mirror. The shoulders are a bit stretched, but I don’t really care. I feel more confident than I have in a while. 

It feels a little narcissistic to just be staring at myself like this, but I try not to think about that as I push my hair about, trying to get it from sticking up like that. 

I’m still admiring myself when I see Baz come up behind me in the mirror. His arms wrap around my waist and my breath catches. 

“You look good, Snow,” he says. He makes eye contact with me through the mirror. “You have good taste.”

“It’s your bloody suit, you git,” I laugh.

“Yeah, but you’re the one who it’s meant to be on. Crowley, it suits you better than it ever did me.”

I smile as he pushes his face into my neck. He breathes deeply, like he’s trying to inhale me in. I feel his lips brush against my skin and I shiver. The corners of his lips curl up in the mirror as he continues kissing my neck. 

“Can I admit something?” Baz asks. 

“Yeah?” I say, breathless. His face is still pressed against me. 

“There’s just,” he starts, but he pauses to kiss up my neck to my jaw. “There’s something about you wearing my clothes that I like a lot. I mean,  _ really _ like.”

My breath hitches very involuntarily, more at his actions than his words. “Is that so?” I ask weakly. 

He hums in response, now standing in front of me, his lips dragging across my cheek and to my mouth. His hands are on my hips. My face is burning up. When am I ever going to get used to this closeness between us? When am I going to get used to the way he makes me feel?

Baz pulls his face away from mine. “What can I say, Snow,” he grins. “Blue is a very nice color on you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh, I've been working on this one for way too long and I'm really tired, so sorry if there's any grammatical or spelling errors. I don't think I've ever heard of a 3 times/1 time, but I didn't have nearly enough time or ideas for a 5 times/1 time, so sorry again. I hope you enjoyed this work! Have a nice day! :)


End file.
